


Strowlers Episode 1

by Strowlers (CometEclipse)



Category: Strowlers
Genre: F/F, Magic, Modern Era, Original Character(s), Strowlers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CometEclipse/pseuds/Strowlers
Summary: In a world where magic is both real and illegal, a librarian tries to help protect a young girl discovering her powers, while her girlfriend makes a device that helps to find unregistered magic users.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tell your story, change the world. STROWLERS is a shared cinematic universe where you are free to create, share, and sell your own stories. A simple license agreement empowers your imagination!
> 
> The story I am writing is actually already filmed and shot! Watch it for free here: https://watch.thefantasy.network/strowlers/season:1/videos/strowlers-061417
> 
> or on Amazon Prime: https://www.amazon.com/Pilot-Seattle-USA/dp/B07HLC8YSW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1545194236&sr=8-1&keywords=strowlers
> 
> And here is the Facbook page: https://www.facebook.com/strowlers/

You want the truth? I think the old magic found it’s way back into our world in a dream.

Just a dream. Nothing more.

***

A typical grey Seattle sky spread unbroken over the Yesler Branch of the Seattle Public Library. Birds sang in the trees of the old neighborhood, plants green and lush from moderate summer rains. From the early morning quiet, a young woman strode up the brick walkway of the library, dancing slightly to music playing through her headphones. She bopped and swayed as she paused. _Coming strong or weak, stand and face your equal, and we’ll turn this world around._ SJ Tucker was a goddess.

Whit smiled as she moved to the new album her girlfriend had surprised her with. Amanda didn’t always get her taste, but she made the effort to try. Even though it was Amanda’s big week. Her presentation should be starting any time now. Whit made a face, a bad taste growing in her mouth at just the thought of A.R.C. That soulless organization. Thankfully Amanda wasn’t like the Preceptors; she was a beloved professor and a skilled researcher.

Shaking away her pall, Whit pulled her silver compact from her backpack, checking herself. Her bright yellow beanie rested on her tight ringlets and small braids, framing an oval face. Only a little eyeliner and mascara used to enhance the dark brown of her eyes and scattered little moles. In the circle of the mirror, her smile was hidden, reflected eyes serious and masked. This was her ritual, she supposed. With a snap she closed the compact and slipped it back into place. Collected and settled, she walked up the steps to the library.

“Hey, Pepper,” Whit flashed a smile to her boss, the small woman already at work behind her computer. “Where should I start today?” She slipped into her shared desk space, quickly logging in. Their desks were in the entrance to the open foyer, Pepper’s lovely smile and incredible depth of knowledge ready to aid any knowledge seekers. Whit had been a librarian for a while, but she fully acknowledged that she had a long way to go to catch up to Pepper’s knowledge.

Pepper straightened, her bangle bracelet clinking softly as she brushed her hair from her face. “Hey, sugar.” Her smile lit up her timeless beauty with a welcoming glow. “Maybe get the holds started?”

“Sure thing,” Whit slipped her badge over her head, fluffing her hair out from under the lanyard and started towards the task.

“Oh,” Pepper pulled her attention back, “You still want to take the first story time today?”

Whit smiled crookedly and reached down into her backpack and pulled out a worn book, the binding fraying and pages well loved. Another gift from Amanda, from when they had first started dating. A lucky and rare find from Twice Sold Tales, she had been told. “Got it covered.” Reading aloud was one of Whit’s favorite jobs at the library, she almost always volunteered to adopt silly voices and encourage the kids to play. Plus, she and the regulars had been slowly working their way through the unusual collection encased within the pages.

“Fairy tales,” Pepper’s blue eyes went distant for a moment, a memory taking her away. Whit always bit back the urge to ask where she went in these moments. Pepper certainly had more wisdom, more history, than anyone she had met before. But she never asked; delving into other’s lives wasn’t something she did. They might want to return the favor.

Pepper’s smile broadened again, eyes crinkling in genuine warmth. “Always an excellent choice. Children always need some truth in their world.”

Whit nodded and faked a smile, turning to get to work. Very seldomly were fairy tales truth. She would have magic if it were.

“The Goldfinch and the Magic Mirror.” Whit sat on the floor of the second level, holding up a book to display the detailed illustrations to the gathered children, reading aloud in a dramatic voice. “A bird catcher’s daughter was checking traps along a stream and found a goldfinch ensnared. As the girl was about to drop the bird into her bag, it spoke. ‘Human child, show me mercy. My family will starve if I can’t fly home to feed them.’”

The children were entranced, eyes trained on the librarian, mouths slightly parted in concentration to reveal missing and pre-braces teeth. Their wriggles of childhood were settled into crossed legs, one little girl held her bracelets over her eyes, imagination glasses to better see the story unfolding. Parents sat in comfortable chairs around the outside of the circle, listening in relaxed detachment.

“’Free me, and I will show you a secret wonder.’” Whit paused her narrative and looked at the children, lifting an eyebrow in question. “Should she do it?”

Immediately hands shot up, waving in eagerness to be picked for such an important task. Whit suppressed the smile that tried to break through, keeping to the gravity of the moment. She pointed to one of the little boys in front, “Omar.”

His grin grew bigger, and he nodded emphatically, “Yes!”

“Really?” Whit drew out the word, “Do you all think she should do it?” Chimes of mostly agreement came from the diverse little crowd, but there was one who shook her head in a silent no.

Whit whispered mysteriously, “Let’s see.” She turned back to the old book. “The girl was very curious and loved to have secrets to keep from her sisters.” A few giggles from sympathetic siblings floated through the air. “So, she let the bird go. Away it flew, as fast as it could, deep into the forest. ‘Wait!’ the girl cried, ‘wait for me!’ The bird fluttered from oak to elm, and the forest grew dark and menacing.”

Unseen to all but one pair of young eyes, the library started to darken, a purple mist creeping into life around the sitting storyteller and her audience. “A wind rose and chilled the girl’s skin,” leaves rolled down the aisles of books, their rustling unheard except for by little ears. “And in the distance, she could hear the howl of wolves.” Shadows of branches moved along the ceiling, chilling howls underlying Whit’s voice.

Whit continued on, adopting a frightened tone, “Oh little goldfinch, I-I’m scared. I wanna go home.” An indigo light highlighted the young face, her only betrayal of her ability to see the forest from the story was in the flickering of wary eyes. She slowly took in the new surroundings and to the children bound by the magic of the story. Omar in particular; his eyes fixated on the book. “The bird stopped and looked at her, its eyes dark and cold. ‘How can I show you wonder if you are afraid of the forest,’ it said.”

To the girl, they were no longer in the library building. Bookshelves faded into the depths of a forest, becoming more translucent with each passing word. The carpet melted into leaves and twigs, little mysterious lights flickering and heavy shadows moving in the distance. Yet none of the others saw what she did.

Whit’s voice deepened in urgency, “’You must run now, night is falling, and the wolves are on the hunt!’”

***

The clinical beep of machines was the loudest noise in the sterile room. A man, his antiseptic clothing inline with the room, was strapped into a specialized chair. Chest, wrists and ankles bound tight. On either side of his temples, the machine waited.

The man sat patiently, anticipation and trepidation mixing as he awaited the next step of his career. It was finally time for his Focusing. Rubber clad hands went to the metal collar around Recruit 291’s neck, the locking mechanism opening for the technician, and she removed it for the first time since it had been put on.

Immediately his magic was released, exploding from suppressed energy into all the rooms surrounding him. Monitors fizzled, warnings displayed of the danger of the psychodynamic breach. But it was expected, the facilities built for just such occurrences, and the technician continued with her work.

“Oh god,” he whispered, fear and awe roiling. A smile vied with terror, eyes flickering around the scenery his magic transported to him. A forest, deep and varied, with life and secrets. His throat caught, the fear leaving him as he knew it again. Knew the magic. No more theoretical study of his power, no more memories of what it had been like before the collar had been placed on him. Now he saw it, felt it down to his soul.

Joy and sorrow rose twofold. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered through his trembling smile, tears springing to his eyes. And knew that he would never feel either duality again.

Separated by a mirror in an adjoining room, two men in A.R.C. suits stood motionless. Dispassionately, they observed the emotional man, feeling the energy strain from him and cause the high-tech electronics to crackle and blink. The smaller of the two looked to his senior to decide how to handle the situation.

Behind both, a woman stood back against the wall, uncomfortable and slightly frightened. But she made no sound, mute as she observed the path her future would lead her to. She touched slightly trembling fingers to her lips and breathed deeply.

Decisively, the senior member reached out towards the window, his hand making a grasping motion in the air. On the other side of the glass, the magic faded until only a little sphere remained as the arcanologist exerted control over it. The suppression was enough to snap Recruit 291 out of his emotions. He calmed, still watching what was revealed before him. “I see a door opening,” he panted, concentrating. “A forest. A library. It’s all the library.”

The technician came back to him, a mouthguard in hand, protection for the procedure he is about to go through. His emotions got the better of him, the importance of what he saw making him struggle with his confinement, pushing himself as far from her as possible. His determined gaze locked onto the man suppressing his chaotic magic. “Director Rodrigo. It’s a Level Five anomaly. At the Yessler library.”

No hint of reaction crossed the Preceptor’s face nor pulled at the scars at his temples. He remained as he was, hand held out. But the woman behind him blanched, her skin paling even more. And around her throat, her utilitarian collar blinked rhythmically blue.

The smaller man, Director Rodrigo, pulled out an old-fashioned walkie, calmly relaying the message. “Code 37. Yessler library.”

In the room, Recruit 291 calmed, accepted the mouthguard and his future.

***

A few short minutes later, men in SWAT gear, rifles at the ready marched into the library. The white logo of A.R.C. was stamped onto the black of their left shoulder. Leading the team, an arcanologist strode in boldly, his uniform proclaiming to everyone who he was. An Enforcer. A witchhunter. He halted between the front desks, an intimidation tactic with his armed men. Behind the desk, one of Whit’s coworkers froze, terror on his face, and he shrunk down into his chair. Silence followed them; everyone knew to stay out of A.R.C.’s way. But Pepper stood instead, noiselessly watching as the arcanologist took a moment, waiting for something. The feel of magic being worked. A moment later he caught it, and he slowly looked up to the second level, arching a finger towards the ceiling. His men moved out, bringing rifles to their shoulders and quietly moving towards the stairs. An overweight cop tried to blend with the group, his hand on his gun. He was there for protocol, supposedly the higher authority, but everyone knew that A.R.C. were the ones who were really in control. The Enforcer swept wide, eyes creeping dispassionately over Pepper, his scars stark on sallow temples, and dismissed her, falling in with his team.

Upstairs, Whit continued to read from her fairy tales, “The girl ran and ran, but the bird flew further ahead of her.”

Pepper’s worried expression followed the last of the team disappear around the curve of the stairs. She looked to her employee, saw his terrified state, and she slipped from behind her desk to follow their path.

“Now she could hear the wolves making tracks ever closer, swift and strong.”

The policeman now had his weapon out as well, the armed members of the A.R.C. team crouched and stealthy as they slipped down the aisles of books, heading towards Whit’s voice. And the Enforcer strode forward confidently, he could feel the magical energy of the one they were coming to find.

Pepper slowly ascended the stairs, making sure to stay out of sight, slipping along the shelves she loved. She knew, repeatedly knew, that this would not end happily. She needed to be close by.

“Suddenly,” Whit continued oblivious to the approach, “she broke into a clearing, and there in the very center was the goldfinch, perched on the rim of a small golden mirror.”

To the girl listening, she could see the other children around her, could see Whit and the illustrations of the book. And the forest, the forest spreading wide around them, everyone else disappearing from their sphere. She didn’t know anyone was approaching. Didn’t know that there was someone who could feel the energy of her magic.

“Having sympathy for the girl’s plight, the bird whispered, ‘The wolves only want your body, not your soul.’”

“GET ON THE GROUND!” One of the men shouted at the gathered children, rifle aimed at them.

Immediate chaos exploded. The carefully balanced magic exploded in fragments, as uncontrolled as children's screams. Some fell to the ground, terrified. Others raced to their parents, throwing themselves into arms that had protected them in the past. “Hands above your head!” Lights flickered and popped, wind rustled, and a girl dashed into one of the side aisles, dropping to hide behind the scant protection.

Whit whirled around on her knees, throwing her arms out wide to block as many kids as possible, trying to figure out just what was happening. Behind her Omar sat up still, his hands held in the air in the universal sign of innocence. “Get on the ground!” The armed man screamed at Whit again, his gun right in her face. Cries filled the library, and Whit dropped down to her stomach, frantically trying to see all the A.R.C. team at once.

Another armed man moved behind Omar, his gun pointed to the lower back of the child. Omar sat frozen still, hands held rigid, magical energy crackling wildly around him. He couldn’t move, bound in terror, in the effects of uncontrolled magic. Frightened, he stared unseeing ahead of him.

This was when the Enforcer stepped forward, fanatical eyes trained on the little black boy. He lifted his hand, splayed his fingers, and Omar dropped, unconscious, to sprawl on the ground.

Pepper crawled further down the aisle she had slipped along and was able to make eye contact with Whit. She silently mouthed, “What did you do?”

Whit shook her head slightly, lifting one flattened palm slightly in a motion of rejection. She hadn’t done anything. No one had done anything. There hadn’t been any magic, nothing strange had happened. No reason for arcanologists to be here… right?

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash made her look to the side. A leaf?

She frowned, and then focused past it. Peeking out behind a little gap in the bookshelves, just over the top of the books, her eyes connected with another’s. Scared eyes, young, dark. They locked gazes for a quick moment, but Whit looked away, not giving a clue that there was something of interest to be investigated. Hopefully she hadn’t given anything away.

The girl knew she had to keep hiding. She could still feel the remnants of her magic, tried to hold it and suppress it. They would find her if she didn’t control it, hide it. A breeze ruffled her hair, sucked more leaves away from her. Slowly, inexorably, she looked to where she was being drawn. There it was. There He was. Full of power and magic.

A boy, fair blond hair in a haphazard cut fell over delicate features. His knowing, cocky grin was echoed in the casual way he leaned against the shelves, out in the open, one foot crossed over the other. He knew that no one else would be able to see him. He had no need to hide. Tattered leggings and a leather vest adorned his slim frame, a mysterious pouch hung on his hip. She swallowed. There was something about him she instinctively knew. He was not of this world. His smile grew just a hint wider.

In the cluster of prone bodies, the Enforcer nodded slightly to the police officer, the man looking far out of his depth. He accepted the illusion of leadership, now that the Enforcer had given it to him, and gestured to the unconscious Omar. “Collar him,” he said as he put his gun away.

The man who had continued to train his rifle on the boy now stepped forward, pulled a temporary collar from his pocket, and carelessly lifted Omar’s head to slip it under his neck.

Incensed, Whit looked up at the two leaders, “What are you doing?” She demanded. Another of the team reached down and pulled her badge out, checking her credentials. He grabbed her by the jacket shoulder, hauling her up just as the other locked Omar’s restraint collar into place, twin red lights burning on.

Anger boiled in Whit’s veins. She had to do something. They were going to take Omar; she knew the stories. She glanced around, looking for something, anything… and realized she somehow was still holding onto her book of fairy tales.

She kicked her chin up, raising the book into the air as the man still held her roughly in place. “Need some fuel for your next book burning, gentlemen?” She forced her sarcasm and anger into the words, belligerent. Maybe they would forget about Omar if she angered them enough.

It certainly got their attention. The cop and Enforcer both made some sort of gesture, and the man holding her pushed her forward. She would be going with them.


	2. Chapter 2

“I was hoping that if they arrested me, they wouldn’t take Omar.” Whit shook her head. “I was wrong.” She lifted the cup she had been given, staring at the blue enameled metal. She huddled into her blanket, the air not cold enough to cause the frission that skittered down her back. But slow anger still burned in her core.

“At least I’m not part of the problem,” she looked around the ragtag huddle, her lips pressed into a flat line that only the most optimistic of souls would call a smile.

Night held them tightly, full dark. She had looked for them. Well, for people like them, for hours. And it was late, far later than she knew. But this was crucial. Across the jumping lights of the trashcan fire, a man slipped in, “You mean the Archanologists.” It wasn’t a question.

“Magic should be freed!” Whit pushed out. “Not collared and licensed.” She disagreed with Amanda on this subject on a fundamental level, and it had caused fights in the past; so they didn’t ever talk about it. Something she was bitterly regretting now. If she had known the research happening right under her nose, she would have searched for these people much sooner. Danger was coming to them. Coming to so many.

“What do you know,” a man asked, “about archanology?” His tone flowed, a poet speaking verse. Compelling, thoughtful, words full of meaning to discover.

Whit took a drink of her tea, shaking her head at the question, “Only what Amanda tells me... and what I read between the lines.”

***

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” Amanda spoke respectfully to the Preceptor, stepping up to stand beside him. She belonged among them. Her navy blue peacoat and professional slacks a clean symmetry to the two men’s A.R.C. suits. Like them, her hair was cut short and kept neat, the red-blonde parted and smoothed down. No spontaneity or ornamentation. The only true difference her lack of Focus scars gracing her temples. 

“You circumnavigated four levels of bureaucracy in order to reach me directly, Professor.” He didn’t look at her once, keeping his concentration and magic trained on the man strapped to the chair in the adjoining room. Recruit 291’s eyes darted erratically around the vision his released magic still weaved. “You have my attention.”

Amanda took one small breath, trying to match his level of dispassion. Emotions would only hinder her here. “As you may know, um,” she glanced away from the proceedings in the other room, “my research to date has been focused on how and when children’s powers manifest.”

The technician slipped on a pair of heavy sunglasses, flashing her own scars, crossed to the large bank of buttons and dials, and started the process. A flat tone filled the air and surrounding area, and the machine started up.

The two spheres on either side of Recruit 291’s head immediately produced a bright white light, electric sparks traveling to each other, penetrating his temples. It coursed through him, sending his body to vibrate, jerking uncontrollably. Through the glass, Amanda could swear she felt the prickle on her own skin; to have it touch you directly… Despite his previous compliance, the young man tried to escape now. The restraints kept him in place as the electric crackle altered him forever.

“Unfocused talent can cause extraordinary damage.” Amanda couldn’t help but watch, her heart rate erratic, her palms starting to sweat. The Preceptor flexed his hand, testing what magic was still unrestrained but remained as cool as ever. As if he were just observing a lecture. “Especially when conducted through the unfocused and undeveloped mind of a child.” Her voice quavered, broke just a little, but she tried to keep her fear away. This horrible looking procedure was just a natural part of being a member of A.R.C.

“Your point, Professor.” He dropped his hand, but still watched carefully. Recruit 291’s eyes rolled back, the mouthguard preventing him from biting his tongue.

“What if we could detect talent in an individual before it manifests?” Amanda’s passion for her project collected her and the importance of her work beat over her fear. “I think my prototype solves that problem.”

In the other room, the machine powered down gradually, the electricity dying away. Recruit 291’s chest rose as he took deep, steady breaths, body easing into the chair. He blinked out at Amanda, his new scars raised white against an ashy black powder that had appeared on his skin. He waited patiently for the technician to come over and remove the mouthguard. He didn’t smack his lips or shift around in discomfort. He gave no indication of the stress his body had just been put through. He sat with an unnatural stillness, blinking, waiting.

“What do you feel.” The operator asked, but there was no inflection to the question. It was flat, monotone.

“I don’t feel.” He said, staring straight at Amanda. She swallowed. Hard. And the rhythmic blue flash of her collar reflected in the glass.

Director Rodrigo leaned over and hit the speaker, projecting his voice into the operating room. “Test him. If he retains his powers, he can apply for a job with A.R.C. If they have gone down too low… send him to corporate loan outs,” he instructed dismissively.

He turned around and looked at Amanda. “Does it work?”

The sudden shift back to her threw her for a moment. “My prototype?” She lifted her chin confidently. “Yes.”

“You know that makes it a level seven restricted technology.” He shifted his head just slightly, studying her closely. Was there a hint of sentiment in his voice? But his eyes showed absolutely none.

“Technically, yes.” One of the reasons she had kept it secret from everyone. Including Whit.

“And that your clearance level as an academic doesn’t begin to give you the authority-“

“But it works.” She interrupted, sure of her discovery and the sheer importance of the implications. She had to make them understand how it could revolutionize the process. How it could save so many lives. With a slight pause to bring her tone back down to the moderate tone A.R.C. members should always use, she continued, “And the regional council has the authority to grant a research waver.” And these two men were members of that council.

He looked at her, but Amanda couldn’t discern a hint of what he was thinking. The emotion she thought she had detected earlier gone entirely.

The low buzz of her phone filled the pregnant silence. Amanda looked away, just suppressing the grunt of aggravation from escaping. Why hadn’t she turned her phone off?

The Preceptor looked over his shoulder. “Take your call Professor, and we will discuss your request.”

She looked down, turning away and pulling her phone out of her pocket. Shit. This was not how she had hoped this meeting would go. She answered the call professionally, at least. “This is Amanda.”

***

“Amanda!” Whit cried with relief into the phone in one of the enclosed offices of the library. “I’ve been arrested! Or, I don’t know, I’m being detained.” In the desk across from her the cop watched her closely, as if she would burst into fire or start shooting magic bullets out of her mouth. A man with an at-ready rifle patrolled out in the main entrance of the library. And the creepy A.R.C. guy just watched her, too intent, his eyes still just a bit too wide. She really didn’t like him. He was like a predator, just waiting for her to run.

“No, something really crazy just happened at the library, and now these A.R.C. dudes think I’ve got The Power.” She made sure to add as much drama and sarcasm into her voice and had the pleasure in watching the cop role his eyes and explode out of his chair in a huff. “I know! I told them it’s ridiculous but- Hey!” He yanked the phone from her hand.

“Amanda Darrow?” He barked, pushing his authority.

“No, that’s impossible.” Amanda shook her head at what she was being told. Whit couldn’t have been responsible for the code 37. She had dreaded that the magical anomaly had been at Whit’s library, and it didn’t truly surprise her that Whit was somehow wrapped up in the fringes of it. But Whit couldn’t be the one who had caused a magical spike. “How- How did it happen?” How was she going to get her out of this?

The Archanologists had been speaking quietly behind her, but her tone must have pulled them from their official business. “Is there a problem?” Director Rodrigo asked.

Amanda took a little breath, turning to speak to him. You couldn’t just ignore a question asked to you by one of the head members of A.R.C. “Your agency is holding my… roommate for triggering an unlicensed manifestation.”

Love. She couldn’t tell them the truth of their relationship. Amanda loved Whit, a strong and powerful emotion. And emotions were anathema to Archanology. Emotions led to human mistakes and errors. The larger and stronger the emotions, the greater and more destructive the mistake. As she well knew. Not just from all the horror stories she heard in the news. Oh, no. She had her own personal well of horror to know that her love for Whit was not the wisest thing she had ever done.

“Did she?” Director Rodrigo prompted.

“Not a chance. She’s failed every test that we offer.” And more than a few of them several times. Whit really had hoped that they were just mistakes, and she had at least some small hidden talent that had not manifested for some reason. Amanda had explained many times that magic developed in childhood, but Whit still hoped.

“Give me the phone.” The Director held out his hand.

Really? Reluctantly, Amanda passed it to him, worried about what he would do. He had the authority to order just about anything.

“This is Field Director Lucas Rodrigo. Who am I speaking to?”

“A-agent Timothy Marks, sir.” Whit saw the swift shift from angry man-in-charge to the cowed underling taking orders from someone much more powerful than he was. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. She was confident her girlfriend would come through for her.

She glanced at the weird dude again. He was still staring, now tilting his head, Whit a specimen to study. She felt her face twist and she quickly turned away. He had shaved the sides of his head very short, proudly exposing his scars. A true fanatic who couldn’t feel anything, just like all the ones who had those marks of utter devotion to A.R.C. She shifted her shoulder; she swore she could still feel his eyes on her.

“A... Sir.” The cop sank down into the chair again, deflated. “Yes, sir. Understood. Sir.” Obviously reminded once again that while officially the police were supposedly above anyone’s authority, it was really A.R.C. who ran things. He put the phone down and sighed, unhappy. He rolled the words around in his mouth before reluctantly telling her. “You’re free to go.”

Whit smirked. Awesome. She took a moment, savoring this chance. “Where’s my book.” The two men looked at each other. “The one I was reading to the children? It’s mine.” She again made sure to interject some boldness into the words. Her sass might not do much, but you had to do something to fight against them.

The creepy Enforcer gave a quick little nod, and the cop pulled out her book, tossing it onto the desk. Whit slapped her hand down on it, a patently false smile just for him. And a very repulsed one raking up and down the A.R.C. man as she spun in her chair.

She left the office, quickly walking to her things. Pepper, who had been watching the whole charade, followed quickly. “Whit!” She called quietly, obviously just as aware of the armed men still patrolling the library. What did they want? Another little boy to collar and haul away?

“Are you alright, honey?” Pepper stopped outside the desk cubicle, not putting her back to any of the intruders to their library. The front door was shut and locked, although the man with a rifle and SWAT gear planted in front of the doors was a bigger hindrance than either of those things.

“Fine,” Whit said shortly, the little trembling of her fingers giving her away, but she hid it by getting her backpack out. Perhaps she was more shaken up than she wanted to be, then she even wanted to admit to herself, but she needed to keep it hidden. This was one of those things that no one else ever needed to know. A weakness that someone could use to hurt her. So she instead carefully slid her fairytales into relative safety of cloth and zippers. It wouldn’t do much, but it made her feel better and eased a little of her quivering.

Pepper gently slid Whit’s yellow beanie across the surface of the desk, “Here you go. I was able to pick it up after they left the upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Whit said quietly. Truthfully, she hadn’t even been aware that she was no longer wearing it. It must have fallen off when she had protested them picking up the unconscious Omar. Where had they taken him if most of their team was still here? “Did they let the other kids out safely?”

Pepper nodded solemnly, concern creating a furrow between her eyebrows, but she kept her eyes trained on the men still occupying the office. “Once they checked all the other children for magical talent, they hurried them out of the library.”

Whit sighed and sank into the chair. “And Omar’s family? Will they be told?”

Pepper’s frown deepened, and she shook her head slightly. “They will be told something, but I don’t know if it will be the truth.” She glanced back to Whit, a strange glint in her blue eyes. “I will make sure that they get the unaltered story, though.”

Whit blinked up at the small woman, confused. If Whit didn’t know any better, she would have thought the sweet librarian… dangerous. Something Whit had never even considered. But then Pepper looked solemn and concerned once more, and Whit dismissed the thought. The stress of the circumstance was getting to her imagination.

Abruptly, the Enforcer and the cop left the office, their goon squad falling into step around them. Whit slowly swiveled her chair, carefully watching them as they swept towards the door. The cop, obviously still pissed and holding a grudge, didn’t look their way as he passed. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of the other one. Another studying stare from his fish eyes, and then they vanished out of the library. Forever, with any luck.

Both women let out deep sighs, relaxing. Pepper crossed to the doors and locked them once again, turning the cheery sign saying they were closed for the day. Maybe they should make one that was a little less happy, for days like this one. “Why don’t you take some time and head out for today, sugar.” Pepper said compassionately. “You have been through enough.”

Grateful, Whit snagged the strap of her bag. “Thanks, Pepper. You’re the best.” She asked before she made her way to the bathroom, “Are you sure you don’t need help with something?”

Pepper smiled slightly and shook her head, “No, I-“ She stopped abruptly, staring at something. Something that a shock.

Whit frowned and looked. The wall of magazines. With that look, she had expected another A.R.C. dude, or something, but no one was there. “Pepper?” Whit asked slowly.

The librarian slowly shook her head, “Sorry, sugar. Don’t worry about it.” She forced a smile. “I suppose I am more shook up by this than I thought. Go on,” she made little shooing motions with her hands, and so she went.

But why did Pepper look more scared just now than she had the entire time earlier?


	3. Chapter 3

“Seems like my girlfriend has got some real scary connections,” Whit told the circle around the trashcan fire, still unbelieving of the events that had happened in one day. Less than a day, actually. Just over twelve hours.

It was… too much. Too much was at stake, and too much had happened.

“How does someone like you end up dating an A.R.C. professor?” One of the men asked, breaking her from her introspective. “Can they even…” He trailed off, holding up both sets of pointer and middle finger spread, stopping before he got too crude.

Whit jumped in quickly, “She’s theoretical.” Despite her conflicting emotions, she still had some loyalty to Amanda. “Has talent but doesn’t want to use it.” She paused for a moment, remembering their conversations spread over their past about this very subject. “She says getting focused can wait.”

The man with the poetic voice spoke up softly. “Around here, we call what they do burning.” He watched her closely, pressing his lips together. Whit had a feeling that this man was their unofficial leader, the one that she would need to convince of the gravity of the situation.

“Burning.” Whit said, hating the taste of it. Acrid and dead, just like the process. “She teaches her students to look forward to when they can practice magic. In exchange for having every human emotion burned out of them.” She spat it out, bitterness and anger welling. From their conversation earlier in the evening, Amanda wasn’t looking at the practice as being some time in her distant future anymore. Something had changed for Amanda today. Or maybe this was just the first time Whit had seen it.

***

Whit braced her hands on the bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked as if she had been pummeled. Dark patches beneath her eyes, lines around her mouth. Man, what a morning. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t frazzled. It had been an easy enough façade to put up in front of the A.R.C. men, and the dumb policeman, but now that she was alone and in the quiet, her hands were shaking.

She puffed out a breath and picked up her beanie, slipping it on over her ringlets, arranging it just so. It was a soothing motion, a ritual that didn’t involve thinking.

A muffled sound escaped from one of the stalls behind her. Frowning, she turned around, trying to identify the noise. A sneeze? A sob? The library was closed; everyone had fled as soon as the A.R.C. dudes would let them. Only she and Pepper should be here.

“Hello?” She asked, another sound coming from a closed stall door. Definitely a wheezing sound. She tried to push open the door, but it was locked. She tapped the door, concerned.

“Stay away,” a young female voice told her, more of a command than anything, but panic tinged it.

“Hey,” Whit said, the wheezing sound registering as the precursor to an asthma attack. She needed to get in there. She hit her shoulder against the stall door twice, and it bounced open.

The young black girl from story time sat up on the toilet top, her feet tucked up out of site on the seat. She looked scared, her brown eyes huge and her skin had an ashen sheen. Carefully, Whit crouched down, raising her hands in an effort to calm her. “Hey,” she said soothingly, remembering the girl’s name as Nikki. But she wasn’t having any of it.

“Stay AWAY!” Nikki shouted, punching her palms out at Whit. A force, a gust of wind, pushed Whit onto her back, and the girl leaped over her, shooting out of the bathroom. Whit scrambled to her feet, snagging her bag as she raced out the door. She heard the back door burst open, and she made a beeline for it. Thankfully the door was old and heavy, giving away her escape route.

Outside she ran, catching a glimpse of the tall, gangly girl taking a left out of the alleyway. Whit tore down the steps, calling her name, “Nikki!”

The neighborhood just behind the library was a quiet one, small houses and few cars parked on the street this time of day. She would have thought she would see the girl running away from her in some direction, but each road was deserted. Whit skidded to a halt and panted, fear for Nikki making her spin around and look wildly. She rested her hands on her head to breathe easier, telling herself to calm down and focus.

There! A shoe. A child’s black tennis shoe lying in the road. She walked over to it quickly, reaching to pick it up. And that is when she heard the wheezing again, coming from underneath the closest parked SUV.

Whit slowed down, picking up the shoe carefully. A new sound started. A puff, then a deep inhalation. Relief eased some of Whit’s fears. Nikki had and was using her inhaler.

She stepped forward carefully, crouching down by the tire and leaning in. “Hey,” she said softly, “there you are.” Nikki lay on her stomach, inhaler in hand. She watched Whit carefully, but she seemed calmer. Or perhaps she just couldn’t run anymore.

Whit gently handed Nikki her shoe, and it was taken just as cautiously. Nikki looked at the librarian she barely knew and asked, “Did you talk?”

Whit shook her head, and zipped her lips. Nikki almost gave a little smile, but she was still too nervous. So Whit smiled, non-threatening as she could be and offered her hand. Nikki took it, and soon they were seated on a boulder wall, Nikki putting her shoe back on and Whit making sure nothing had fallen from her bag.

She gratefully grabbed her water bottle, pulling out her book of fairytales. She really needed to do more cardio; she was even more beat after the sprint. Her muscles felt like jelly. Nikki might be a child still, but she was already almost as tall as Whit and all legs and endless energy.

Whit took several draining gulps of water, making sure her companion took some too. As Whit put the bottle back in her bag, Nikki looked at the book on her lap and piped up, “My daddy used to read me stories from that book too.”

Whit picked it up, surprised, “He did?” She hadn’t seen any other copies around. Not even their library system had a copy. She probably would have used it instead of her gently used copy, just to help preserve her treasure.

Nikki nodded then closed her eyes. “The girl ran and ran, but the bird flew further ahead of her. Now, she could hear the wolves,” Nikki recited from memory. Slowly her eyes opened, the look on her face too old for a young teenager. She slipped into her memory, tucked into her colorful bed, her father with one arm around her shoulder, the other holding the book open on his lap as he read aloud to her, letting her see the pictures and start to read along too.

“The bird stopped and looked at her, it’s eyes dark and cold. ‘How can I show you wonder if you are afraid of the forest?’ It said. ‘You must run now. Night has fallen, and wolves are on the hunt.’ The girl ran and ran but the bird flew farther ahead of her. Now she could hear the wolves making tracks ever closer, swift and strong.” Little Nikki hugged her bear tighter to her chest, sinking deeper into her dad’s chest. “Suddenly, she broke into a clearing and, there, in the very center, was the goldfinch, perched on a small golden mirror.”

Nikki’s recitation stopped there, pulling her from the past and memory of security. She glanced sideways at Whit, smiling a little, glad that she could still remember it all.

Whit grinned and nodded her head. It was the exact words from the book, now open on her lap so she could follow along. “Your daddy sounds pretty cool.”

That took the little smile of Nikki’s face. “They took him away.” Nikki turned her face forward again, once again too old for her age. “Same way they took Omar.”

Whit closed her eyes. “Oh,” She breathed out. A.R.C. was not gentle with adults who had hid their abilities.

Nikki pressed her lips together, but continued. “When they brought him back, he wasn’t my daddy anymore.”

Whit closed the book and took a breath before she asked seriously. “It… wasn’t Omar’s magic at the library, was it?”

Nikki ducked her head. “I can feel it happening to me.” She suddenly looked up at the sympathetic face, “When I try to tell mama, she won’t listen.”

Whit tried to explain it, “She’s afraid.”

Nikki shook her head, “It’s getting stronger, and I don’t know what to do.”

Whit reached out a hand and ruffled Nikki’s hair, pulling her in for a hug. She didn’t know what to do either. Nikki was obviously scared and didn’t have anyone to turn to. How could Whit help her? Nikki was just a kid; she didn’t deserve to be collared and focused. Just like her dad, once she was focused she wouldn’t be Nikki anymore. What burning did to a person was horrible. But if Nikki’s magic was getting stronger, she could accidentally hurt someone. Like earlier, when Nikki had pushed her back. It had not been painful, but if Nikki didn’t learn how to control it…

And Whit knew about Amanda’s past. No child needed the weight of deaths on their conscious, never mind their own parents’ deaths.

***

Amanda’s childhood backyard was a green paradise, lush and private. The ornate metal table and chairs set amongst this garden was painted prim white. A blue rose fabric with a lacy edge draped over the surface of the table and covered little seat cushions on the chairs. Over the tablecloth, a tea set was carefully arranged, blue roses with a bright yellow finch nestled against the branches. Amanda sat in one of the chairs, a pretty white jacket buttoned up to her collar. Her red hair curled around her face, a hair clip tucked on one side. Little black mary janes wrapped perfectly around her feet, white tights completing the pristine ensemble. Everything was as pretty as a picture. 

She carefully poured cold tea from her teapot into one cup, then the other, and set the pot down. She reached out one hand, palm up and extended towards the empty chair. She screwed her face tight, concentrating hard, her profuse freckles bright.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, a hand settled into her own.

Amanda’s eyes flew open and she gasped in delight. A friend! She had wished and hoped and tried to create one, and now here he was! The boy now sitting across from her looked around, and she thought he looked surprised. He was her imaginary friend, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she knew this yard, so should he. But then his blue eyes locked with hers, and he smiled slowly. Amanda couldn’t see the pleased satisfaction in the smirk.

Soon they were running around the yard, throwing caution to the wind. All the deportment Amanda’s parents had instilled in her, all the caution about not drawing attention to herself, all gone. The shrieked as they ran, Amanda turning cartwheels through the mud, flashing the purple tutu she was wearing beneath her white dress. Slipping, smearing, staining. The boy ran after her, laughing. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t need to. With his laughs and taunts he encouraged her to climb trees, to break sticks and try throw them over the hedge into the neighbor’s yard, to roll through the mud and grass.

Amanda didn’t even notice when they ran into the perfect little table. The teapot fell to the side and cracked. A thick, green sludge oozed out over the table cloth, the tea transformed.

Her mother came home first and found her, immediately starting in on her lecture. Amanda rolled her eyes, shutting out the words. She already knew them. Her parents didn’t want her using her magic, didn’t want anyone to see being flashy, and she hadn’t acted how a good little girl was supposed to act.

Her mother dragged her inside and ordered her to change, and the boy had followed them, looking curiously at the two. Amanda would share looks with him, but her mother had never seen him. After all, he was her imaginary friend, not her mothers.

Her father had arrived shortly after she had changed, and then she stood in the living room, listening to them both talk at her. She tuned out the words, angry that they kept saying the same things over and over again. The boy sat on the couch, leaning towards them, giggling as their pitches rose and fell. Amanda crossed her arms tight over her chest, her chin tucked, glaring at them from beneath their eyebrows.

Her temper rose. She took deeper and deeper breaths, squeezing herself tighter and tighter. Why wouldn’t they just stop talking and let her do what she wanted? They were always so annoying. She hated them! She wished they would go away forever and just let her play and use her magic and not bother her with this stupid stuff! The boy’s gaze shifted to her. He rocked, fascinated and greatly entertained.

Suddenly, her mother and father stopped talking. Amanda took a small breath, pleased she had done it. She had used magic to make them stop!

But now they choked, their hands coming up to their mouths. First her father, then her mother, coughed, and from their mouths burst a green sludge. She could hear them try to take breaths, but they couldn’t breathe past the ooze that continuously poured from their lips.

Amanda’s elation turned to fear. No! This wasn’t what she wanted! She started to cry, not sure what she could do. She panicked and tried to use her magic again. She pleaded, struggled, fought. But nothing she tried did anything. They stopped struggling, their eyes going wide and locking on her, and then they fell to the ground. They didn’t breathe again.

All the while, the boy laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s a sad reality that kids with talent get collared all the time.” The leader interjected into Whit’s story.

“You and I both know it won’t end with a collar. She will get burned and exploited, just like all the other kids whose parents can’t buy their way into the right schools.” Which was one of the reasons she was here. These people could help Nikki, she was sure of it. “Just don’t write her off too quickly. Not until you have heard the rest.”

“You ever walk into a room and feel instantly at home?” She tried to explain to the circle. “That’s the Collaboratory. Community kitchen on Sunday, co-working weekdays, Tuesday night hackerspace, Thursday night community organizing, hip-hop veganism workshops. If you can imagine it, here is where the magic happens. I volunteer there Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

***

A wide range of ages, races, activities, and cultures melded into the Collaboratory. There were people knitting, delicately welding computer parts, discussing plans plotted out in binders, reading, looking through records, or in general creating an amazing atmosphere. Whit pointed a man towards the wall that contained an assortment of gear available for making or fixing things, letting him know he could find what he needed somewhere in that treasure trove. 

It was dark outside now, Nikki home, and Whit tried to determine what she could do to help the poor kid. She had heard of something, or a group of someone’s, but they seemed more like an urban legend than something she could actually find. Strowlers. They were talked about a bit, a secret group that resisted archanologists, supposed magic users who were practicing their art freely and underground. The secret part, though, that is where she ran into problems. But if she were to learn anything of them, it would be here.

Whit rolled her chair back to the front desk computer, and Amanda walked through the door. Whit took stock of her girlfriend, standing to meet her. She looked… well, she looked like Whit felt, but a rueful smile still played over her lips. “Hey,” Amanda said, a whole wealth of emotion backed up in the simple word.

Whit glanced at the bag Amanda set down on the desk, trying to toss in a little breather with the heavy that those exhausted emotions were sure to lead to. “That take-out’s illegal in here you know.” She was mock stern, an easy fallback routine, Amanda picking up on the play instantly.

“Really?” She asked with a bob of her head, her red hair a little more tussled than it had been while meeting with her bosses. A true smile spread over her lips, grateful for the break from the serious. “Caaauusssee doesn’t seem like much else is.” She looked around the room, and in that instant, one of the women soldering at an old computer caused a spark, a little flame that popped into life.

Whit and Amanda both jumped, Whit opening her mouth to speak, but the flame was patted out. “All good,” one of the men told her quickly, “the fire is out.” The group clustered around the computer giggled.

They looked back to each other, Amanda closing her eyes and smiling as she shook her head. Whit moved around the desk, knowing it was time to address why Amanda looked so exhausted. “Hey,” Whit said, putting her hand on Amanda’s cheek. “You look like you just lived through my day.”

Amanda opened her eyes and gave her a look, and Whit got it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, suddenly remembering that today had been the day of Amanda’s biggest presentation. And she had called right in the middle of it with some pretty distracting and complicating business. Your girlfriend being arrested and arranging her bail would ruin anything. Whit flinched.

Amanda just looked at her. “It was a disaster, even before you called,” she reassured Whit. And yet somehow, was not reassuring at all.

***

After her phone call with Whit, the two Director’s asked for some time to assemble a meeting. Amanda’s stomach rolled with nervousness, but her face didn’t show it. They were putting together an official hearing for her proposal. At the very least they were taking her seriously.

Her elevator climbed to the top of A.R.C.’s skyscraper, a focused secretary directing her to the conference room where Director Rodrigo sat to the right of the Preceptor, with Dean Headstrom, the highest Professor in her College to his left. At their request, she began her presentation once more.

“It’s still just a rough prototype, but basically the imbedded tracker, here, routes power from the focused practitioner, detecting anomalous frequencies along ultra-low ionic fields.” Amanda leaned forward and pointed to the device sitting on the desk before the three men. It was about a foot wide, almost the same tall, but thin. Two antennae worked to pick up signals that the equipment was calibrated for, the circular display currently blank, and the dials adjusted to detect in their area. The Preceptor picked up her device, his magic connecting with the device. This was as it should be; Amanda had made it to work only with magic users, powered by their uncollared capabilities. “Then it’s translated-“ the device hummed, the screen crackled with static, a little electrical burst caused the Preceptor to recoil, and the screen went dead.

Amanda’s mind blanked. The Preceptor set the device down on the table and gave her an emotionless look. She opened her mouth, no words escaping for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she fought to control herself. “It’s never done that before.” Had the Preceptor’s magic been strong enough to short circuit the energy converter, or had she made a mistake with her calculations? Since her magic was locked down by her collar, and she hadn’t been able to have anyone with unleashed magic work with it yet.

The Preceptor looked to the Dean and said, “I think we have seen enough.” His tone was dismissive, his opinion evident. Director Rodrigo looked hard at her temporarily broken device.

The Dean turned to her and said, “Miss Darrow, it is the conclusion of this panel that our current surveillance techniques will have to suffice-“

“No.” Amanda said, her belief in her device making her interject as she normally would not. The two men stared at her, no doubt not expecting her to make such a stand against their conclusion. “See, sure,” she continued, her voice wobbling slightly. “We catch talent early. But that’s not nearly soon enough. It’s always after there’s been an incident.”

The Dean spoke up, “I assume you are speaking from your personal history.”

“Yes,” Amanda said firmly, anger now rising. She hated to remember, but it was always with her and was her motivation behind her life’s project. “Okay? Is that what you want me to say? I destroyed my own family, my own childhood. By accident.”

In her mind's eye, she could still see her imaginary friend. The blond-haired boy with the sly smile and eager anticipation of her folly. Her childhood had been ruined with her one afternoon of recklessness. She still had the broken teapot. A tangible reminder of what was within her.

“Your parents tried to hide your talent,” The Dean interjected, putting her down. “And they suffered for it. Had they played by the rules-“

“That’s why this device is so important,” Amanda pushed ahead. She remembered all the warnings her parents had tried on her, how they had kept her hidden. She knew now that they hadn’t wanted her to lose her, but they had gone about it all the wrong way. If they had worked within the system, Amanda would be better for it because her parents would be alive. “Can’t you see the imperative? You’re thinking in the abstract, I’m thinking about actual children.”

“Dean Headstrom,” the Preceptor turned and asked, “What is Professor Darrow’s current potential rating?”

“A seven point eight.”

The Preceptor slowly turned, gaze boring into her. “Two points below the maximum possible score, and yet you still wear your suppression collar, teach basic principles to first years, and design useless devices. You are wasting twenty years of training and a lifetime of potential. Continued research on this project is prohibited.” His tone was final.

Amanda blinked down, her vision slightly blurred. She stood, intending to take her device and go before the tears started to fall.

“Preceptor,” Director Rodrigo chimed in, “if I may suggest the other possible uses of this device. For example, we could use this-“

Amanda collected her things and turned to leave, when the Preceptor held up a hand to cut off the Director. “Professor?” The Preceptor stopped her in her tracks. “The women you spoke with earlier on the phone, is this a romantic partner?”

Amanda closed her eyes. Of course. Her purpose of being was shattered and now her personal life was also uncovered. “Don’t be ridiculous,” She intoned coldly, but she apparently hadn’t fooled him.

“You are an investment in perfection, Professor, not in human fallibility. End it.”

Amanda swallowed and walked out of the room.

***

The Collaboratory’s main lights were out, the last of the makers leaving Whit and Amanda alone and cuddled on the couch. “They have no right to dictate what you do with your own time,” Whit told Amanda, running her hand over short glossy red hair, trying to soothe the obvious distress she was in. The partially eaten food spread forgotten over the coffee table, Amanda curled into Whit’s side as she had gotten upset once more.

Amanda sighed deeply, unconsciously brushing her fingertips over the silver of her collar, the blue light blinking brightly in the darkened room. “The people who paid for my training,” she shook her head, “they aren’t gonna let me stay in college forever.”

“But when they focus you? Burn you?” Whit leaned forward slightly, so Amanda could look up and into her face, “They take away everything.” She shook her head, unbelieving that they had to have this conversation again.

Amanda closed her eyes and looked away. “Archanologists have to grow up eventually Whit. Set aside what we may desire individually, in favor of the collective good.” The words were regimented, obviously something that Amanda had been told thousands of times. Whit rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So we can engage our powers with an undistracted mind.”

Whit lifted her arm away from Amanda’s waist, pushing up from her weight. What was Amanda saying here? Was she saying they were over, and using her job as an excuse? No, she quickly stifled the thought. They were just discussing Amanda’s job options, right? And this whole burning leads to an undistracted mind nonsense… “That’s bull, and you know it.”

Amanda sighed and pushed up to a sitting position, Whit’s hot headedness something she was familiar with. “What are you gonna do with your research?” Whit asked.

Amanda shrugged and looked down, “I dunno. I thought it was over, but Lucas had other ideas.”

***

After her disastrous meeting, Amanda went back to her office at the college. There was a lot to clean up. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, but it was clear that she couldn’t keep her device nor her data there anymore. Dean Headstrom was sure to check in on her now that he knew what she had been working on. But for some reason Director Rodrigo had come with her.

“Show me how this works.” He told her, gesturing to her device now back inside its briefcase.

“Why?” She asked mechanically, not stopping in pulling her files. “The project’s cancelled.”

“My agency has been quietly throwing money at an idea like this for years.” That made Amanda stop, a faint flicker of hope starting in her chest.

She put down her file and frowned at him. “A.R.C. is looking for children?” She sounded interested, not concerned. This was what her device focused on; those whose magic was just starting to manifest, young ones learning they have talent.

“Does this distinguish between children and adults? Or those who haven’t manifested talent between those who have?”

It hadn’t quite occurred to Amanda to consider it in those terms. She tilted her head and said, “I’d need field data collection to answer that. Actual real-world testing.” She supposed that it might show up as such, but until she built up her empirical collection with a magic user to power the device, she couldn’t say with any proof. She deflated as she realized, “Which is now forbidden.”

Director Lucas Rodrigo narrowed his eyes and asked, “What about tomorrow morning?”

Amanda’s heart started to race.

***

“Your project is to identify everyone with talent?” Whit asked incredulously. Amanda had never gone into real details with her; now she knew why. She had sat back down on the far side of the couch, practically vibrating with tension.

“Yes,” Amanda said slowly, but confidently, warily watching Whit.

“Even if it is just potential, and even if they haven’t used it yet?” Who knew how many thousands, millions of people were out there, unknowing of their abilities. It was unfathomable to Whit, but she knew there were those out there who rejected their magic as well, refused to use it.

Amanda shook her head, “Damn it, I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Is that what it does?” She demanded, leaning forward, her hand a claw digging into the back of the couch.

“You cannot breathe a word of this to anyone.” Cool and collected as always, unruffled in the face of the momentous impact her device would have on the world.

“Amanda, do you have any idea what you are doing?” Whit shook her head, her heart racing. All those people, their lives changed with one easily replicable device.

“Yeah, saving children.” Amanda said firmly.

“No! You’re setting them up to get burned!” Amanda shook her head and looked away, fundamentally disagreeing with Whit on this point. “Where is it?”

“My prototype?”

“We have to destroy it.” Whit told her, seeing a way out of this. If they could stop the testing, the prototype, destroy Amanda’s research and notes, it would end there.

“Are you crazy? That’s my life’s work!”

Whit pushed herself off the couch, staring down at the woman she loved. She could see the whole division of A.R.C. now, their only purpose to travel around the country, collars at the ready. Would they be stationed at hospitals, checking all the newborn babies, new special collars to clasp around crying infants? “A witch hunt machine?”

Amanda finally got ruffled, “It’s not!“ She took a second then continued, “Jesus, Whit. You are being so naive. This isn’t some fairytale,” her words were biting and harsh. Whit crossed her arms, shaking her head. “This is about saving people here. In the real world.”

“Is that really what you think archanology is doing?” Whit asked softly, detaching somehow from all the anger, confusion, hurt, disbelief. This… coldness, this wrongness in Amanda’s beliefs, it was something Whit had never seen before. Something Amanda had never shown her.

“Yeah,” Amanda said just as sharply, “I damn well do think that.” In that moment, she was every inch an archanologist. All she lacked were the scars on her temple.

Whit stared at her. “Who are you?” She whispered. She walked backwards a couple steps and grabbed her jacket.

“Whit! Wait!” Amanda cried out.

Whit turned around and spat out, “You give that device to that A.R.C. asshole and we’re done.” Amanda had a choice to make, and she had better damn well make the right one. Whit grabbed her bag and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Amanda asked incredulously.

Whit spun and cried, “Done!” It finally seemed to click with Amanda, her expression changing from righteous indignation to stunned. “Lock up when you leave,” Whit ground out and headed out the door, slamming it behind her. Leaving Amanda to stare after her on the couch, unmoving.


	5. Chapter 5

“So why us?” The black man asked, one elbow braced on his leg. A pair of worn dog tags swayed as he leaned forward, his chunky scarf wrapped tight around his neck against the cool of the summer night. “We are just a group of old friends sitting around a campfire.” He said easily, the flames alighting the assortment of comrades. One woman’s eyebrows twitched up and smoothed away. “Telling stories and singing songs.” As if in response, the young man with the guitar who had been singing softly dropped his voice and stopped strumming.

“Yeah,” Whit replied, also looking at the small group, “But,” she hunched in, her voice lowering. “You’re more than that. I mean… don’t you…” She flared her hands beneath her blanket, spreading her fingers and wiggling them.

“Hey, lady,” The guitar player interjected. “Don’t you know that’s illegal?”

Whit looked askance at him, confused.

“Oh, course she knows,” the older woman interjected, amusement in her voice. She reached out a hand, and with a snap of her fingers, a sparkling light sphere rose a few inches from her fingertips.

Whit’s mouth opened in wonder, delight in seeing real magic transporting her back to a simpler time. Oh, how she wished she had this gift! She had always hoped that it would manifest, but she was much too old now. Oh, she knew the dangers, the risk of being collared. All that still didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of her who longed for it. The pinkish purple drew the eye, captivating. She knew most magic could not be seen but more something felt by other magic users. She hadn’t known that there had been magic occurring in her library that morning, but the A.R.C. agents had once they were close enough. And when they had bust in, it had exploded into physical manifestation. Wind, leaves, the chaos.

But this, this was manifest to be visible. So that she could see it. Specifically for her.

The other woman looked at her friend sternly, disapprovingly. Their leader also looked wary but the rest of the circle was laughing. “Oops,” the woman said with false contrition, chuckling and letting the magic retreat, their merriment lifting Whit’s mood.

The leader’s next question took her back to the seriousness of why she was here. “What’s the range on this tracking device?”

Shaken, Whit fumbled for an answer. “Uh, I don’t know?” She knew almost nothing about it.

“Can you find out?”

All levity faded. “You mean spy on my girlfriend?” Right now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the same room as Amanda. But… she still loved her. Spying felt all sorts of wrong.

“You wanna help this girl? This Nikki?” He tilted his head, looking at her hard, gauging her responses. “You wanna help people with unfocused magic?”

“Yeah,” Whit breathed out, and started to shake her head. “But I thought…” Well, she wasn’t sure what she had thought. These people, Strowlers, they had magic! Couldn’t they do… something? “If there are people who aren’t registered, who’ve trained themselves, who can do things like I saw in the library? Then why not stand up to the government and fix it?”

All the circle made various expressions of pain, despair, sadness. Obviously, they had lost before. 

The young man spoke up, “Oh you mean like, drop the whole fairy godmother bomb?” Sarcasm was prevalent in his every word. 

Whit sat back, irritated with him and the faint laughter that rose from his friends. She worked her mouth, preventing herself from snapping at them. So maybe she had thought they could do something like that. Surely they could if they wanted to.

“Whit,” their leader laughed out, “There is no charmed weapons cash. We can’t go in wands blazing against the entire might of the United States Government.” Archanologists were everywhere, in all corners of society. And although A.R.C. was not technically affiliated with the government, Whit had seen just today how much control they truly had. The authorities would do whatever was told of them.

“But-“ She tried to say, but he continued.

“Plus,” He said firmly, “Do you really think we could pull this girl from her mother and carry her off?” He squinted at her as she absorbed that question.

“I’m not sure exactly what I thought,” She confessed, slumping into herself, heartsick. She supposed she had thought she could just tell these people about Nikki, and they would handle it from there. “But I know this tracker is a big deal.” She looked them all in the eyes, and she saw the humor leaving them.

The woman who had made the magic sphere turned to the leader. “Josiah,” she finally gave Whit a name in this secretive group. “Once that device is calibrated,” she said, her voice scratchy, “A.R.C. will be able to locate any of us.” The other woman put her hand over her mouth, the young man finally losing his cocky attitude. Josiah studied his friends, their steady quiet and fear. Whit realized that they lived with this every day, their worry about being discovered. As adults who had hidden their magic their whole lives, A.R.C. would brand them criminals. And they would be burned with little care to the outcome, exploited if they retained usefulness or cast aside completely.

When Josiah looked back to the woman speaker, she met his gaze, a steady, confident look. One Josiah shared. Whit felt a tingle race down her spine at that look. A decision had just been made. 

Josiah held out a flat hand to the black woman, waiting expectantly. She recoiled slightly, staring at his hand, then at him. When he didn’t retreat, her face took on a resigned cast, and she reached down to a bag resting next to her. 

“When you begin a story, it’s time to finish it.” The black woman slapped the cards into his hand, obviously not agreeing with whatever decision he had made. Josiah continued, his words precise and deliberate, a story in its own way. “You are going to pick a card.” Whit looked beneath her lashes. Pick a card? Like in a magician’s fake magic trick? Josiah shuffled the deck. “Only one rule though, whatever card you pick, you must find a way to incorporate it back into the story you just told us.”

Whit was thoroughly unimpressed, doing everything she could to prevent herself from rolling her eyes. What were they playing at here? She had come to them for help, and they were acting like this was a huge deal. But they wanted her to play a kid’s little story game? “What, like, make it up?” She was not here for this.

“Make it better. More right,” he explained, “You’ll know what to do.”

“But what about what really happened?” Playing pretend wasn’t going to fix this issue.

“Who says things have to be real to be true?” His eyes held hers, a faint smile on his lips. “You and I both know how many sides a story can take in its telling.” That rang with her; she did know. As a librarian, she read the evidence of that first hand.

Josiah fanned out the cards, leaning forward to offer them to her. “Draw,” he commanded, making this a significant occasion. One to be treated reverently.

Still unconvinced, Whit rolled her eyes and sighed as she leaned forward and slipped a card free. Yet, even she could feel the tension the circle radiated.

She looked down on it and felt all the built-up mysticism collapse for her. It was a picture of Josiah and this trashcan fire. The card was called The Storyteller, a numerical number eight at the top. In the card Josiah was standing, his hands raised as if he were gesturing in some grand tale. The trashcan had a strange labyrinthian symbol painted on it, one she thought she may have seen before, but was not on the real trashcan. A continuous line started in the middle and dropped to the outside of the design, looping back and forth inside itself as it got closer and closer to circle the center before leaving the pattern. It felt complete in a way, but confusing. And that was it. No secret, no real help. Irritation rose, and she flipped it around to show the group.

They all flinched, some expressing disbelief, while others wary acceptance. Whit shook her head at the momentous reaction to some stupid card. “I don’t get it.”

Josiah pressed his lips together tightly, staring at the card. He clicked his mouth open and leaned into the light, seeming to pick his words carefully before he continued. “Every story is a labyrinth.” He held up the deck of cards, showing her the same design that was on the card’s trashcan was printed on the back of the deck as well. “You begin a journey to the center, then wind your way out of it and end up somewhere new. But while you are in the center, you have a chance to change things.”

Whit looked at the card in her hand and saw that it was not quite the same as the design on the back. The card in her hand had a Shepherd's hook at the start and finish, while the design on the back started and finished with complete circles. Why the difference? And what did he mean, while in the center of a story you have the chance to change things? “How?”

“The best fictions are the ones surrounded by truth.” Whit just looked at him, confused and irritation.

The woman who had showed her the magic chimed in. “And the right story,” She whispered, stars in her eyes, “Can change the world.”

Goosebumps rippled down Whit’s arms. She slowly licked her lips, staring at the fire. She also knew that. Had seen books and stories changed everything. But her telling one around a campfire to a tiny group of people? She raised her gaze, colliding with the power of Josiah’s eyes. “Once upon a time…” He slowly started for her, leaving the words hanging for her to continue. So, she took a breath, rolled her eyes, raised the card she had drawn, and started her story again.

***

“Hi!” Whit said, looking at the black man in a warm scarf, shabby coat and dog tags who was looking around the Collaborative as if he had never seen the place before, a slightly startled look in his eyes. “Can I help you?” She nodded her head towards the table next to her. “Cup of coffee?”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding his head, “Please.” She turned and poured him a cup, using a blue ceramic camping mug she hadn’t known they had.

The man looked around enthusiastically, taking in all the different activities packed into the space. As she handed the mug to him, a patron came up and asked her, “Do we have another, uh-“ In this story, Whit already knew what he wanted.

“Looking for another power strip? Check the cooking class,” and she directed him to the wall with all the spare gadgets. She rolled back to her desk in time to see Amanda open the door. The black man stepped out of Amanda’s way, moving around her as Amanda set the take out down onto the counter.

Whit stood as she had before, communicating with her girlfriend silently. The man moved to Amanda’s side, looking at her intently. He waved one hand in front of Amanda’s face, jerking Whit from the eye contact. But Amanda didn’t see him. Whit blinked, surprised. “Oooh,” Josiah breathed, pointing between the two women. “I see.”

This wasn’t how the conversation had gone. She lightly shook her head, trying to get back to how it had happened. Across the space, the computer sparked, a flame leaping to life. Suddenly Josiah stood behind the computer and slowly passed his hand over the fire. The flame lifted away and vanished. The same patron who now carried a power cord told her, “All good. Fire’s out.” The little group laughed as they had before, not observing the man who had just used magic to make the flames disappear. Whit focused on telling the story.

Soon, Whit and Amanda were nestled on the couch. Only this time, Josiah sat in the chair next to the couch, looking through her bag. Amanda told her, “They said end it.”

“The hell,” Whit lifted her hand from Amanda’s hair, “They have no right to dictate what they do with your own time.”

Amanda continued from Whit’s memory, “The people who pay for my training-“ But this time, her attention turned to where Josiah pulled out her little compact, opening it up and staring at it. Whit made a face at him, incredulous that he was just blatantly going through her things.

“You know what’s funny here?” Josiah spoke to the mirror. “She doesn’t see me. Then, she doesn’t see you either.” Whit frowned and looked at Amanda, who was continuing as if nothing had changed. Still talking about archanologists having to grow up. “Take a look,” Josiah held out the mirror to her, the symbol of her ritual. The one she did every time things got out of control. She would stare into a mirror and collect herself, serious and hidden within.

She reached out a hand and took it from him, her reflected brown eyes darkened. “You smile,” he continued, “but you don’t let anyone in.” Whit dropped the mirror and looked away, irritated that he was judging her. “Don’t let anyone see the messed-up girl behind the charm.”

Whit snapped the mirror closed and bit out, “Why are you psychoanalyzing me?” She handed the compact back to him.

“I’m not doing anything,” he told her, flipping it over and over in his fingers. “You’re the storyteller here.”

Whit burst up off the couch, “That’s bull, and you know it.” She had timed it exactly as it had happened in real life, but the words and actions were to something else. She strode away, as she had done before.

Josiah drawled, “Don’t trust anybody, and they won’t let you down huh?” He looked to where Amanda settled against the couch, a knowing look in his eyes.

Whit frowned, caught between this new narrative and the old. “What are you gonna do with your research?” She asked Amanda, following the script.

“What are you gonna do when you end up alone?” Josiah asked her, voicing a question she hadn’t ever wanted to ask herself. But it was one she had pushed down and hidden when she had wondered earlier in the night. When Amanda had made it sound like she was breaking things off with her. Now the conversation with Amanda froze, the one with Josiah seeming to have made a pocket of time that existed outside of it. The question she had scarcely allowed herself to think kept her from continuing the original conversation.

Was Whit the storyteller here? Or was Josiah somehow asking the exact right questions as she was telling her tale? Josiah rubbed his fingers over the design etched into the compact, staring at her. “If they only know what you show them…” he trailed off and held up her mirror, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

Whit shook her head and whispered, confused and a little scared, “It’s just a compact.”

Josiah raised his eyebrows again, his question not needing to be said allowed. Is that really all it is? The silence stretched for a long moment, potent with the unasked words.

Josiah broke it by asking, “What does Nikki need right now?”

The jump in thought made Whit’s brows furrow, made her lick her lips and consider the question. “If they are going to catch her and I can’t stop it?” Josiah made an agreement noise. Whit thought for a moment more and said, “She is going to need to be strong.” She thought of all those who changed after they were burned. The husks of people mechanically doing what they were told to do, or those who were burned so badly they could do nothing. Of Nikki’s father. “To retain who she is no matter what they do to her.”

Josiah looked at her closely. “And who’s the expert at putting up walls?” He asked her slowly, pointedly.

The questions sunk into Whit, altered her in a way she wasn’t sure of.

Just then, the conversation with Amanda clicked back into play. “This isn’t some fairytale,” Amanda bit out, shifting Whit slowly back to what had happened. “This is about saving people here, in the real world.” What was the difference between a fairytale and real life when it was all a story?

Josiah shifted in his seat, looking at Amanda. “Is that really what you think archanology is doing?” Whit asked softly, disbelieving.

“Yes. I damn well do think that.” Amanda punched out, every line of her rigid with the strength of her conviction.

Whit felt Josiah’s eyes on her again, but she just shook her head at Amanda. “Who are you?” She backed up and collected her jacket.

“Whit!” Amanda bit out, disbelieving. “Wait!”

Whit spun around as she had before, but this time was… different. She wasn’t angry anymore. She was sad. How had she failed to reach this coldness in Amanda? How had she missed the signs of this fervency? Or was it more likely she had just ignored them? Her philosophy of not asking questions so others wouldn’t ask questions about her. If she hadn’t walled away her emotions, and avoided all potential conflict, could they have talked about this? Discovered a way for Amanda to soften and see just what archanology was taking away from people?

Whit shook her head, looking to where Josiah still sat and played with her compact, drawing her eyes to it. No more walls, no more hiding her truth away in a mirror. “I need some space,” she told Amanda, voice trembling slightly. Amanda’s attitude changed from indignation, softening and confused. “I do love you, but I feel like we are lost in the woods without a compass.” She stepped toward Josiah and he offered up her bag.

Whit slung it over her shoulder and stared at Amanda, shaking her head slightly. This was strange, this whole conversation taking on a new cast and feel. She needed to think about, think it through.

Behind her, Amanda shut parted lips, her eyes fluttering as she looked down, expression changing to something Whit couldn’t decipher.

Whit closed the door to the Collaborative in her story. A sudden flash of her drawing the card from Josiah’s deck played in her mind, and then she opened her eyes to life.

It was morning. Pre-dawn. The sky a blue bright enough to see. She was where she had sat, wrapped in the blanket she had been in last night. Only this time she was alone. The trashcan fire was burnt to ash, the stumps where the group, the Strowlers, had been arranged were still in a circle but lacked any signs that they had been occupied at all.

She stood and threw off her blanket, confused. Had she fallen asleep somehow? And they had just left her? Or maybe she had had a mental breakdown after leaving Amanda in anger, thought she had found Strowlers, but in fact just wandered here and fallen asleep?

No. She looked down at the card in her hand. The Storyteller, the labyrinth. It had all happened, but nothing had changed. And somehow it was the next morning.

Whit looked up, and saw the main A.R.C. building in Seattle, framed through power lines and cargo cranes. Whit firmed her jaw. Her little foray into pretend hadn’t done anything. She had to get to work and figure out what to do to help Nikki. 

Angrily she crossed her jacket tighter and started walking the miles she needed to cross. Looking down at the card she held, the design on the trashcan, she huffed out a breath and shook her head. What a waste of a night. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it to the side and continued to walk to the library.


	6. Chapter 6

Whit paused at the steps to her library, surprised. Along her long walk and bus trip to get to work, all she had thought about was Amanda and their fight. The last thing she had expected to see was her girlfriend waiting for her.

The ugliness of their fight twisted in Whit’s stomach. Sure, in her retelling of the previous night, it had morphed into something gentler, but that was not the truth. What she had really done was give Amanda an ultimatum and left in anger; she hadn’t thought Amanda would seek her out from that. For a second she remembered Amanda telling her that life was not a fairytale. That this was the real world. Was Amanda right?

No, she instantly changed her mind. She would rather live in fairytales. Work to make life more like them. In fairytales the bad guys were defeated, and the world was changed for the better. People should strive towards that.

She hesitated, debating what to do. Feelings were just so messy and complicated. She inwardly shrugged. Oh well, might as well find out what Amanda wanted. She closed the space between them, and saw that Amanda was smiling slightly. She looked a little nervous, but she wasn’t being cold and righteous as she had been last night. She held a cloth bag in her hand, and as Whit reached her side she held it out. “I come bearing clothing. And toiletries.”

Whit leaned against the planter box next to her, crossing her arms tightly over her stomach, not sure what to say. She remembered Josiah’s words, “Don’t trust anyone, and they won’t let you down, huh?” Yet she had been let down, even without letting Amanda in fully, so obviously that hadn’t worked for her. But could she start now? Or was everything too messed up to fix? She didn’t know what to do to make things right. She didn't know if things could be made right.

Only birds chirping spoke in the silence between them. Amanda looked down and back before saying, “I’m trying to apologize.”

Whit sucked in a breath, not able to look at her. Apologize for what part of it?

“I know I am driven, and my job is insane.” Yes, A.R.C. was insane. And what Amanda hopped to do through her job was also insane. Hunt children and take them from their families. She clenched her teeth, still angry that Amanda was even considering this. 

Amanda said gently, lovingly, “But, you’re my compass, you know?”

Whit blinked. Where had that come from? That wasn’t a saying Amanda ever used. But… Whit had said it. During her second time telling the story of last night, her make believe.

“If something’s wrong, I should listen to you. Not just…” Amanda looked at her softly, “push you away.” Confused, Whit just listened. “Eat the damn croissant,” Amanda told her in playful sternness. Whit took it, and Amanda sighed. “I have to deal with this Lucas thing. I love you.” She leaned in and kissed Whit’s cheek softly, then started down the steps.

Whit watched her go. She couldn’t say anything more about what Amanda’s next actions would be; she just hoped that she made the right decision. Silently she mouthed, “I love you.”

***

After a sink wash and a change into the clothes Amanda had brought from her, Whit stared into the mirror. Normally, this is when she would collect herself, build up her façade. Her little ritual. This time though, she just looked at herself. Was now the time to change? Could she really change? If she did, would it make any difference with her and Amanda? Would it aid her with Nikki? She sighed and left the bathroom. Maybe she should take baby steps and vent to Pepper all about her previous day.

“You are not going to believe what just-“ Whit started to tell her boss as she reached the front of the library.

Pepper turned around, a finger flying to her lips, “Shh!”

Whit saw instantly what had made Pepper interrupt her. Nikki slept in one of the chairs, Pepper's jacket pulled around her as a makeshift blanket. “What is she doing here?” Whit asked softly, worried.

“Poor baby, I found her curled up on the back steps.” Pepper stood watch protectively over the girl. “I would have called CPS right away, but when I mentioned that, she went ballistic and said you would handle it.” A question tinged Pepper’s words.

Whit shook her head, “She’s right, it’s not a CPS issue. It’s… other stuff.” Whit slid down to sit next to the sleeping girl, just as Nikki raised her head from the armchair, her face contorted in a wince. “Hey,” Whit said with a smile.

Around them, the lights began to flash on and off. Nikki slurred out, “I don’t feel so good.” Whit leaned back slightly, alarmed despite her intentions. Large sections of lights continued to flash, a sign that Nikki’s magic was acting up. Pepper remained with her arms loosely crossed, objectively watching the electrical play. “Sorry,” Nikki said with shame, “I can’t control it.”

Whit sighed and told her gently, “We need to let your mom know what’s going on.”

“I already told you, I tried.”

“She’s your mom,” Whit explained, “Don’t you think she deserves another chance?”

Nikki leaned her head against the back of the chair. “She’s gonna be mad.”

Whit gave her an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry.” She reached out and took Nikki’s hand. “I’ll go with you.” At the very least to make sure that Nikki didn’t run away from home again. Her mother must be worried sick.

Nikki smiled at her gratefully, but Whit missed the gentle smile that also crossed Pepper’s face. Her boss crouched down to the chair, and Nikki turned to look at the woman.

“Nikki,” Pepper spoke, “Do you remember what happened yesterday with Omar? At storytime?”

The girl nodded her head, “Yeah.”

“Well sugar,” Pepper said in the serious tone adults took with children, “If anything bad starts to happen again, I want you to think of a labyrinth.” Whit jerked. A labyrinth? A silver sensation slipped down her spine and arms. Pepper raised her hand, displaying the bracelet she always wore, little dangling beads jangling together. “Like this one,” Pepper showed Nikki one of them, and Whit was stunned to see the same design that was on the back of Josiah’s cards. It was worked out in black and white clay, and a little less elaborate, but it was unmistakably the same design, the single line labyrinth looping around itself. “Just keep it in your mind,” Nikki ran her fingers over the bead as Pepper continued, “And if anyone tries to hurt you, I want you to imagine they are caught inside that circle.” Nikki traces her thumb over the circle at the very center, looking at it closely.

Whit’s whole perspective of her boss changed. How would Pepper know about that design? Unless… she was one of the Strowlers group? People who had magic and had kept it hidden, outlaws of the government. Could Pepper be one of them? Had Whit ever seen anything to indicate that Pepper had such abilities?

“Do you hear what I am saying?” Pepper asked Nikki. “And you just walk away.” She finished with a comforting smile.

Nikki leaned her head against the chair. Nikki felt a pang. Despite everything Nikki had been through, all her world-weariness and pain, she was still just a kid. “How do you know all of this stuff?” She asked Pepper, all innocence and full of questions.

A true smile bloomed on Pepper’s pretty face. “I’m a librarian, honey.” Pepper looked at Whit and nodded, leaving Nikki with Whit so that they could return to Nikki’s home.

As Pepper walked away, Whit opened her mouth, about to ask her boss a question. But she stopped herself. Which one to ask first? She wanted to tell Pepper all about her night, to see if she could get any answers to the confusing mass of questions still darting around within her. Did Pepper know Josiah? Or the others in the small group that had listened to her story? Did she know what that whole storyteller thing was all about?

But no, Nikki’s welfare came first. Whit turned to the girl and said with a smile, “Come on, let’s go talk to your mother.” Although obviously reluctant, Nikki nodded, stood, and took Whit’s hand.

***

In a Seattle neighborhood, Director Lucas Rodrigo sat in an A.R.C Response Vehicle and asked, “So what’s the data collection plan, Professor.”

Amanda looked at her newly fixed device resting in Lucas’s hands. Warily, she asked, “Are you sure this is a good idea?” She was thinking of Whit, their conversation the night before. Whit had been so disappointed in her, had called her device a witch hunt machine. But it wasn’t that, it was meant to save children. Yet… she supposed she could see how it could be abused. She was also remembering the remarked rejection she received from the other board members who had heard her proposal. She could be fired if they found out about this... or worse. “The Preceptor was very adamant that this was-“

“Yeah,” Lucas cut her off, “Let’s leave the politics to the politicians.” He almost sounded… conspiratorial, and derisive of his other A.R.C. leaders. Amanda glanced at the scars on his temple. But he was burned; he had no emotions. So, these tones he used, where they an act? A mimicry of what he once felt? A manipulation?

Would she do that too when she was burned? Or would she not even attempt such a façade? Most did not.

“Our results will justify themselves.” He said distractedly.

Amanda cocked her head at him, “But legally speaking-“

“Legally speaking,” He cut her off again, making sure the device was ready, “You are either on this or against it.” He looked her in the eye. “Which is it?”

Amanda paused for a moment, tempted to back out. She looked down at the device. It was her life’s work. She could save children from going through what she had gone through. Whit's voice and anger tried to pull her away, take her in another direction. For a moment she was all Amanda could see. But then she saw her parents’ bodies instead. Her jaw firmed. “I say we stay in the south end and wait for a flare.”

She tried to ignore Whit’s voice telling her that they were lost in the woods without a compass. And her own voice that said this was not the direction Whit would point her in.

***

Whit knocked on the door of Nikki’s house, and a middle-aged woman answered. It took her a split second to see who was standing with Whit before she burst out, “Oh my lord, where have you been?” Anger, fear, relief rushed from Diana, and she yanked her daughter into a tight hug. One, Whit noticed, Nikki returned full-heartedly. Abruptly the woman pulled back and put her hands on her daughter's arms, “Baby, don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Nikki looked down and whispered miserably, “I am sorry momma.”

Dianna’s fierceness crumbled, and she pulled Nikki close again, looking at Whit. “Hi, Mrs. Jackson, I’m Whit Martin.” She lowered her voice. “Can we talk in private?”

Instant suspicion crossed Diana’s face. “In private?” She asked. “What are you talking about, in private?”

Nikki had told her that her mother wasn’t listening. Whit shook her head and sighed. How to make her hear? “There was an incident, at the library yesterday.” Diana closed her eyes in pain, glancing down at where her daughter’s head was tucked into her shoulder. “The Anomaly Response Core was called in.”

Diana licked her lips and looked at Whit. Then she turned and called over her shoulder, “Marshawn.” She pasted a false smile on her lips, “Nikki’s home!” Whit looked and saw a man seated at a round table. He was dressed in a white bathrobe, working on a puzzle. He looked sickly beneath the brown of his skin, sallow and wasted. His scars were ugly and blatant against his temples. He didn’t look up at the news. Diana looked back to her. “And uh,” She continued with fake hospitality, “We have a guest.” She gestured for Whit to come in.

Realizing what a risk Diana was taking, Whit whispered “Thank you,” as she walked past her. Diana closed the door.

***

Amanda leaned against the car as Lucas moved the device around, carefully keeping it level, the antenna pointed out. Nothing was showing up on the screen. He slightly adjusted one of the dials, but there was no change. They had been out here for a while now with no successes. Would he give up if nothing happened soon?

She licked her lips and stepped forward, pointing to one of the neighborhoods laid out before them. “Try over by Hillman City.” He pivoted slightly, and Amanda watched in wonder as a spot emerged to life on the screen. Her heart started thumping wildly.

“What’s that?” Director Lucas asked, pointing at it with his thumb.

“I don’t know,” Amanda stammered out, excited to see the fruits of her labor showing something. “It’s small, but that’s definitely an impulse.” She had done it! Her device truly worked!

Lucas looked at her, and then quickly moved back into his car, Amanda swinging around to the passenger side. They were going to find out what the device had picked up.

***

Marshawn still hadn’t looked up from his puzzle, and Whit now saw that it was entirely white. The edge of the puzzle was complete, a large chunk put together inside. He sat with one piece in hand, the other picking up a new piece and trying only one side before setting the new one aside. Tedious, mindless. A task with no thought driving it. Just a ritual to complete.

Diana looked at Whit and she realized she was staring and hurriedly looked down. Uncomfortable, she chewed on her finger.

“My husband is…” Diana trailed off, “Well.” She finally said. She didn’t need to explain. Whit had seen the results of bad burning before. Whit nodded her head slightly.

“Momma, I…” Nikki started to say, looking over at her father. Her words left her as she looked at the seemingly empty chair to Marshawn’s right. But she saw him. The blond-haired boy, one hand on the puzzle. He smirked at her, invited her.

Diane pet her daughter’s hair, looking to see only her husband. Nikki was probably scared to end up like him. “What is it baby?”

Nikki didn’t break eye contact with the boy, and she felt the magic welling in her, heard the birds chirping, saw the air darkening with that deep purple power. He wanted her to let the magic out. Wanted to see what she could do.

Around her, the lights started to flicker, Whit and Diana startling. The boy grinned, pleased to see that Nikki was willing to play.

“No!” Diana turned to Nikki, taking both her hands in hers, “Baby. No.” Dangerous things could happen if her daughter didn’t control herself. They would take her away just like her husband, and when she came back, if she came back, she wouldn't be her Nikki anymore.

For the first time Marshawn looked up from his puzzle. He felt the power. He hadn’t retained much of anything after being focused, too low power even to be sent out as a menial laborer. But he could still feel it when others were working magic around him.

Nikki slowly looked back to her mother and said, “Someone’s coming.”

Whit jumped, spinning to look out the window behind her to the street. Sure enough, a black SUV barreled down the road, skidding to turn into the driveway.

The boy narrowed his eyes, displeased at the interference, the light around him darkening even more. In the house, the speed with which the lights flickered increased.

Whit rushed to her feet, running for Nikki. “We gotta go now!” She turned and pushed herself against the door, keeping her eyes on the window and whoever would pop out of the official looking vehicle.

Nikki stood, and Diana followed. “Deep breaths, baby.” She shadowed her daughter, crouching to keep herself the picture of non-intimidating. “Deep breaths.” She reached out a hand.

“Don’t touch me momma,” Nikki warned, her breath starting to wheeze, but Diana didn’t listen. Her daughter just needed to calm down, she told herself. She could just ignore the magic if she just kept calm and put it from her mind. She patted Nikki’s leg.

Panicking, Nikki pushed out her hands, and Diana shot across the room. Her back hit the wall, and she fell to the floor. It just slightly stunned Diana, but Nikki was horrified. She shot up and ran away, past her mother and towards a back door.

Remembering Nikki’s asthma attack, and terrified of who was coming for them, Whit leapt over Diana’s legs for the girl’s backpack. She prayed that the inhaler was still inside. She snagged the bag and looked out the window to see how much time they had.

Her eyes collided with blue eyes. With a woman wearing a neat jacket, her short red blonde hair parted and arranged just so. A suppression collar blinking callously around her neck. Whit stopped breathing.

Amanda.

For a moment neither moved, too stunned. The implications of her being here sunk home for Whit. Amanda had used the device. She had ignored Whit. So much for being Amanda’s compass. Diana’s groans behind her snapped Whit from her paralysis, and she turned and booked it after Nikki. She could think about this betrayal later. She had to help Nikki get away from her girlfriend and A.R.C.


	7. Chapter 7

Whit raced after Nikki, slamming through the back door. What greeted her was like nothing she had seen before. Leaves gently swirled in the air, defying the windless day. Small insects and dragonflies in vivid hues darted around the small backyard, too many in one spot to be natural. And against the back hedge an archway of silvery leaves opened into forest filled with bright golden light.

Whit’s breath caught. Magic. True, vivid, visual, magic. The hedge in the backyard was only about six feet tall; she could see the skyscrapers of Seattle beyond it. And yet, she could also see the towering trees through the arch, some of them forty feet tall.

The front door snapped open behind her, and Whit darted down the small staircase. She brushed through the lazily floating leaves, wordlessly patting her hands on Nikki’s shoulders as the girl leaned and panted. Whit looked into the frightened pair of eyes and took Nikki’s hand. They couldn’t go out the front, the witchfinders would waiting for them. Their only route for escape was through the magic. Whit took Nikki’s hand and together they faced the doorway into the forest and darted through.

Lucas, still holding the device, ran out the backdoor, Amanda quickly coming up behind him. They also stopped, disbelief making them share a wordless glance. This wasn’t small magic. To open a portal to somewhere else? A tingle raced down Amanda’s back. Nikki was strong. Stronger than anything A.R.C. had ever seen. Open a portal? That shouldn’t be possible. Yet there it was.

There was a secret Amanda held. Once she hadn’t told even Whit. When it came to magic, Whit just didn’t understand, so Amanda tended not to discuss the details with her. And there wasn’t any way she was going to talk about it with her fellow archanologists.

She had cheated on her magical tests. They had been so easy; move the apple, create an illusion, make the screen go blank. She had rolled her eyes and put the bare minimum of effort into doing the trite little tasks happen. Then they had brought in a puppy and told her to try to put the puppy to sleep. And the happily wriggling little puppy rolling on the ground had morphed into a vision of her parent’s bodies, sprawled. Dead. Black gunk oozing from their mouths and spilling all over their nice clothes and pristine carpet. Hands clutching at their throats as they had failed to breathe.

Amanda’s hands had shaken, her mind skittered, and she hadn’t tried to put the puppy to sleep. What if she killed it instead? Ashen, she had pretended, sent a little magic into the air to create vibrations and light effects, but no intent. She had still impressed them though. So much so, they had given her a rating just .2 points below what should have been possible. And yet, she had so much more within her.

If she didn’t have her collar, is this what she could do? The sudden rush of longing, hunger, and delicious potential made her lose track of what she was doing. Amanda stared at the forest, the light flickering through trees, the tingle of magic saturating the air. Lucas turned his head to look at her, hard eyes assessing both her and their situation. She looked back at him, but only for a second. That portal drew her back, her collar a deadweight, locking her down.

***

Birds were singing sweetly in the warm air, a beautiful summer day. It was peaceful, no hum of cars or roar of airplanes. Wherever they were, this forest was far from anything. Only the sound of Nikki’s asthmatic coughing disrupted the serenity. Whit held her hand as they ran, worriedly looking around her. Nikki needed her inhaler, which was hopefully in the backpack Whit had over her shoulder. But there was risk in stopping. 

They hurried along until Nikki’s running dragged. Whit pulled them into a little grove, dropping down. “Can you walk?” She asked, a hint of panic in her voice. 

Nikki shook her head and sprawled on the ground, “Not fast.” Whit rummaged through the pink and black backpack, quickly finding the inhaler and passing it to the tall girl. 

“They’ll be coming soon.” Whit said softly.

Nikki took her medication, “What do I do?” She asked scared and dazed. 

Whit looked around and realized something. They had nowhere to go. There was no safe house they could reach that would keep them safe. Nikki couldn’t run as fast or as long as the A.R.C. responders. She didn’t have control over her magic, so she couldn’t use it to escape. As long as Amanda had her witch hunting device, they would always be looking for Nikki. 

She shuddered out a breath and grabbed Nikki’s forearms, making the girl look at her. “Listen to me,” she said seriously, keeping her eyes locked with her. “They’re going to catch you, but they don’t have to catch all of you.”

Nikki lowered her inhaler, looking confused.

Whit sucked in a breath, hoping that this would work. Hoping Josiah hadn’t lead her wrong. “Do you know what I do when I wanna protect myself?” Nikki shook her head. Whit reached into her own bag, pulling out her compact. “I pull out my mirror, and I split myself in two.” She opened it and gestured at herself, “This is the face that I show the rest of the world. And in here,” She turned the mirror so Nikki could look inside, “is the part of myself I protect from it.”

Nikki looked between the two halves of the compact, her expression usure. She turned and looked to Whit, trying to see what she meant by it. Whit raised her brows slightly, “Can you do that?”

“Like,” Nikki looked back to the compact, “the Goldfinch’s magic mirror?” Her tone took on awe, excitement suffusing her. “Is this the magic mirror?”

Whit opened her mouth to say no, but stopped. She remembered. Remembered what Josiah had said, telling her ‘Who says things have to be real to be true?’ While she was in the middle of this story, she had the chance to change it. She huffed out a breath and whispered, “It could be.” 

She shook herself from the thrill, reminding herself that Nikki was in serious danger. “Do you remember how the fairy tale ends?” Nikki nodded, and Whit pulled her up. “Then run,” she told her, handing her her backpack, “And finish the story.”

Nikki slung the bag over her shoulder, “What about your mirror?”

Whit handed it over without a second thought. “Take it.” Nikki accepted it and threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly for a long moment before Whit broke it. “Get out of here. Run!”

Nikki started off before stopping and spinning back around. “Thank you for your magic!” She then hurried through the forest, running away steadily.

An unbidden smile fought with worry and sadness. Her magic. Nikki had thanked her for her magic. After all these years wishing she had the ability, making Amanda perform all those tests on her, she had given up hope with it. And yet, she supposed she did have magic. Through story, she had given Nikki a chance. Now the rest was up to the girl. 

Whit looked back the way they had come, knowing that behind her lay the portal… and Amanda. She squared her shoulders, her chin kicking up a notch. She had to go back, her lips thinned out, but things were never going to be the same. 

***

Whit sauntered out of the portal, her hands in the air. Amanda, an burned archanologist, and that dumb cop from the library were standing in Nikki’s backyard, all looking down at Amanda’s device. Amanda saw her first, her breath a little gasp that caused the cop to look up. His face went hard and he instantly started forward, pulling handcuffs out. 

He moved behind her, yanking her arms down roughly. Whit didn’t try to fight him, annoyed but resigned. She couldn’t help herself, though. Her eyes went over to Amanda. 

The A.R.C. dude shot her a glance, but dismissed her. He fiddled with a dial once, the machine pointed into the portal. There was a humming, buzzing sound, and he said, “Got her.” He instantly started off into the forest. 

Whit’s stomach flipped. Nikki. But she didn’t drop her gaze from Amanda’s. This was it. The last chance Amanda had. What would she do? They stared at each other silently, Whit quirking her brow. 

Amanda shouted, “I’m coming with you,” and finally broke the stare, turning to go. 

Whit released her breath, hurt, surprised and yet not. The cop didn’t give her much time, he jerked her around again, a sharp little painful tug, and made sure she saw Amanda jogging towards the portal. “So how’s my favorite librarian?”

She didn’t deign an answer. Instead she watched, a little smirk on her lips, as Amanda turned one last time to look at her before heading into the forest. 

Because of her magic, Nikki would be safe. She was sure of it.


	8. Chapter 8

“A wind rose and chilled the girl’s skin,” Whit’s voice followed Nikki through the forest, continuing the story as she hadn’t been able to in the library. Nikki knew the words, could hear the librarian’s voice spurring her, guiding her. Behind her she could feel the presence of other magic, could feel the ones coming from her. “And, in the distance, she could hear the howl of wolves.”

She had her story, the magic, to show her the way. 

She dropped her backpack, no longer needing it. It was bulky and cumbersome, just a burden now. Her inhaler was the only thing of hers she kept, but she didn’t think she would use it anymore. She ran deeper into the sunlight forest.

“The bird stopped and looked at her, its eyes dark and cold. ‘How can I show you wonder if you are afraid of the forest?’ it said.” Amanda strode forward quickly, catching up to Lucas. He still held the device, using it to pinpoint where the girl ran. She couldn't keep ahead of them forever.

“Night is falling, and wolves are on the hunt.” In Amanda’s hand she held a temporary collar. “The girl rand and ran, but the bird flew further ahead of her. Now, she could hear the wolves making tracks, ever closer, swift and strong.”

Nikki wasn’t wheezing as she stepped into the shaded glen. Her asthma wasn’t bothering her, in fact, she almost did not feel winded at all. More magic, she believed. She slowed abruptly, not surprised to see him there. The boy. The blond boy with his rough clothes who only she could see. Of course, he would be here. He was part of the fairytale, her story.. 

“Suddenly she broke into a clearing, and there, in the very center, was the goldfinch perched on the rim of a small golden mirror.”

Nikki walked towards him slowly, her hands in her pockets, one clutched around cool metal. Not gold, or was it now? But still the mirror from the story. Whit had given her the magic, and she knew what to do with it. The boy smiled. Anticipation, mischief, excitement. This was more fun than anything he had done in ages. “The bird whispered, ‘The wolves only want your body, not your soul.’”

***

Amanda and Lucas came through to the clearing, moving more quickly when they noticed the signal was no longer moving. Nikki sat where the boy had been, the mirror open in her lap. As soon as Lucas was close enough, his hand shot up and he released a stream of magic towards the girl. Amanda sucked in a breath, unknowing what he had done. They didn't want to hurt the child!

The girl flinched, bringing her hands up to ward her face. The offensive power bounced against something metal clutched there and it streamed back towards its caster. Lucas took the blow in the chest, flying across several yards to smack into a wide fir tree trunk. He dropped the delicate device as he slumped, his breath knocked from his lungs. For anyone else, a blow that far and that hard could have killed them. Just as she had unintentinally killed when her powers hadn’t been controlled.

But Lucas wasn’t a normal man. He wasn’t even a low level arcanologist. His magic had flared within him, an invisible force she had felt as he had collided with the tree. It had taken most of the power from the blow and was aiding him in his rapid recovery. He looked back to the girl, annoyance showing on his face. Amanda knew this was his sociopathic training; he didn’t truly feel anything. Before he had been burned, he hadn’t felt anything. He could mimic emotions to fool anyone. Anger, vengeance, rage. But no one liked to be countered, especially when that person was a powerful A.R.C. member. She held her hand out, telling him to wait, to let her handle this.

“This is a magic mirror,” Whit’s voice continued as Nikki investigated the two halves of the compact. I will give you a rhyme that opens the door to the world in the mirror.”

Lucas stood, chest heaving, looking like he would charge the girl again. Amanda held herself firmly between the two. If Lucas tried to incapacitate her again, who knew what this child would be capable of doing to protect herself. This needed a lighter touch.

Lucas finally relented and backed down, ceding her control of the situation. Amanda let out a breath, slowly stepped forward. “Your reflection will spring forth in living flesh, to meet the wolves in your place.”

Amanda called out gently, “Hey sweetheart.”

Nikki jerked her gaze from the mirror, and Amanda took a tiny step back. “Easy. Nothing to be afraid of.” She lifted a hand and touched the band of sleek metal around her throat, now taking little steps forward again. “See the collar I’m wearing?” She asked softly, calmly. “This means I can’t use my powers, so I can’t protect myself the way that he could.” If Amanda were to go flying, she would shattered like a teapot. “So, you gotta be more careful with me, alright?”

Nikki looked back into the mirror, trying to remember the story. “The girl did as the goldfinch said. She spoke the rhyme and brought her reflection to life.” Nikki could see herself, curled and windswept tendrils escaping from her short ponytail, her straight nose, the little gap between her front teeth, her brown eyes. She locked gazes with herself in the mirror.

“Mirror self, reflect my face,” Nikki began, “Hear my words and take my place.” She stopped. There was more to the chant, but the words kept slipping from her mind. She knew them, she knew she did! But they eluded her, danced just out of memory.

Amanda knelt beside her slowly, keeping her demeanor as non-threatening as possible. She didn’t know what the girl was doing, but with her prodigious talent, and it would be best for all their sakes to make sure she couldn’t harm anyone else again. “You must be pretty frightened, huh.”

Nikki looked up from the mirror, a little incredulous look in her eyes. But there was still fear as well. The girl was brave, but Amanda knew exactly what this strange, overwhelming power felt like, and what it did to your world. Amanda smiled slightly, settling down to the same level. “When I was your age, I was pretty scared too.”

Nikki looked back to the mirror and tried again. Maybe is she just said the beginning lines, the second part would just flow out. “Mirror self, reflect my face. Hear my words and take my place.”

Amanda looked at her, a bit awed at the circumstances that had led her to this girl. Their powers were strong, so strong. And someday soon this child would do something to hurt someone irrevocably. Amanda had the chance to stop her from making the same mistakes she had. To change her life. A life that had somehow become entangled with the woman she loved. How had Whit become a part of this? How had everything led to having them on opposite sides of a compass?

She wouldn't worry about that now. Right here, she needed to have one purpose. She spoke over the girl’s words, paying them no mind. They didn’t mean anything to her. She could feel the slow thrill of magic, but I was just a potential, no active effect taking place. “I could feel something terrible growing inside me. A monster that was going to swallow me from the inside out. Hurt the people I loved.”

The girl stopped speaking and Amanda asked gently, “Does that sound familiar?” She didn’t look up from her gaze into the little compact she held, but she nodded her head. Amanda faintly noticed that the two round mirrors looked familiar. Another one of Whit’s entanglements against her.

She pulled herself from the thought and continued. “Luckily, there’s a place for special kids like you and me.”

Nikki knew there was a place. But it wasn’t with the wolves. The wolves would devour you whole. The goldfinch and Whit had given her the way. If only she could remember! Whit, help her.

“Where they can teach you how to focus your power,” Amanda told her, “and you wear a collar, like this one. Keeps you safe, until you learn everything you need to know.” This child may not understand it yet, but she would. And she would be the better for it. “And there are people like me, who understand and can help you.”

The girl no longer even reacted to her, ignoring her completely. Sadness sink in Amanda's stomach. The girl wouldn’t go with her willingly. She watched as she raised the compact closer to her face, concentrating harder, the final dismissal of others existence. She shook her head sadly, “If you just let me help you.” One last please that fell of deaf ears.

Whit’s fairytale, her father’s fairytale, filled Nikki’s mind. She knew the story by heart, knew what the spell would do. “She spoke the rhyme and brought her reflection to life,” Whit’s voice filled her mind, giving her the last lines and the last bit of magic. It felt different this time. She was lost inside her reflection’s eyes, losing herself inside the mirror. 

Then, finally, they slipping from her lips, both her and Whit speaking the last lines together. “Breath and blood will make you whole, you have my heart and I my soul.” 

The spell flared and Nikki dropped instantly unconscious. She didn’t see Amanda’s hands closing the collar around her neck, the compact slipping from senseless fingers to land not on a forest floor, but on gravel, her body already falling.

***

Amanda held the girl in her arms, looking around at the gravel driveway they now sat in. They were back somewhere in Seattle, many blocks from where they had started this chase. Still sunny, but it wasn’t the same saturated light that the forest had been. Lucas stooped with his hands on his knees just a few yards from them.

She had done it.

“But, know girl, you are making a choice,” the fairytale continued. “When the wolves feast, you will lose a part of yourself, the part you give the girl in the mirror to make her flesh.”

Whit sat where she had been handcuffed, the police officer and A.R.C. agents waiting around her. She didn’t know how long it had been, but she had known the instant Nikki had gone. Whether the spell had taken into effect or she had been collared, her magic had disappeared, and so had the portal into the forest. So, they waited where they were.

As soon as she saw the cocky way the main A.R.C. dude walked through a gate in the backyard, she knew they had Nikki. And sure enough, just behind him, Amanda came through, carrying the tall girl in her arms.

She locked eyes with Amanda and firmed her lips. Should she say something?

“Let her go,” the man tossed to the police officer as he strode past them. Amanda didn’t even pause, looking away after that glance, continuing to follow the arcanologist. So. Amanda had made her choice, Whit thought bitterly.

She was lifted roughly by the elbow and the cuffs removed sloppily. She winced and rubbed at her wrists. Bastard. But she didn’t bother spending a second on him. 

Had Nikki done it? Had she been able to create a barrier, separate her soul from her body? Would Whit ever know the truth? She wouldn’t be allowed to see Nikki again. Such a powerful asset would be jealously guarded and cultivated. Had the magic of Whit's story been enough?

And what was Whit going to do now?

***

In a facility, a short time later, Nikki sat on an all white bed. She wore all white pants, an all white shirt, in an all white room. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes blinked slowly, her face slack and expressionless. Just as sterile and blank as her surroundings. 

The only thing of note were the angry scars at her temple. Burn scars.

“The belly of the wolf stayed as hungry as ever, for all he had eaten was a poor reflection of the girl, which is never really enough.”

Could someone have magic if their body had no soul?

***

Amanda sat at the table in her and Whit’s apartment, staring at the photograph in her hand. A picture of her and her parents. Happy, together. Just a memento hidden in a faded blue box. There was a picture of her and Whit on the shelf by the kitchen. Is the box where that one would go now too?

On the table was the broken teapot, blue roses and a bright yellow bird. Her reminder. There was no going back. She put the photo down and pressed her fingers to her lips.

The door opened, and she startled. Whit. Hope and despair made tears form in Amanda’s eyes. Because Whit stopped just inside, her feet braced apart as if she were going into battle. There was no warmth in Whit’s expression. 

Amanda had thought Whit was her compass. Whit thought they were lost at sea. And apparently, they were.

***

In a forest somewhere else, far from Seattle, a black girl held hands with a goldfinch boy.

“But the girl went through the door, into the forest of the goldfinch, where birds are princes, and old endings are merely new beginnings.”

The two children laughed and talked together happily. They passed through a walkway of giant trees into bright sunlight, and they slowly disappeared into a new adventure.


End file.
